I first saw her along the bank of some unnamed tributary digging up mollusks with a flat-bladed screwdriver. I watched her, mesmerized, from behind a screen of willow branches as she bent to her task, grunting contentedly, her breasts swinging bralessly ‘neath a threadbare Metallica T-shirt. Small beads of perspiration dripped steadily off her heavy brow ridges, falling harmlessly to the sand below and evaporating like leaking coolant on hot asphalt.
.
I disrobed, and moved quietly toward her through the willows. Her ears twitched as those of a frightened mule deer. Her head turned quickly in my direction. She rose abruptly from her position on squatty, muscular legs, dropping the mollusks but firmly clutching the screwdriver. Her dull, expressionless face framed a pair of yellow eyes that sparkled like Listerine™ in a Dixie Cup™. We stood there, suspended in time, staring at each other for what seemed an eternity. Finally, I offered her some cattail root and grub worms. She disappeared quickly into the bushes, leaving me standing there with a handful of grub worms and a broken heart.
Been tap dancing through the DNA memory banks again Herm-Ugg?
ReplyDeleteAlways fantasized about a three-way with Betty Rubble and Wilma Flintstone.
DeletePure poetry!
ReplyDeleteSounds a lot like a regular friday night out in Long Eaton though!
Yep Andy, I hear those Long Eaton chicks are at first a little bashful, but soon loosen up after a couple pints of Guinness.
Deleteschoolboy error hermit, stripping buck nekkid = good, wearing ck -one cologne = bad! you should have of course rubbed the grub-worms into your flesh and wallowed in the silt and mud of the lazy back water stream to hide your scent, removed a sock, filled it with a selection of heavy stones and swung them above your head into the nearby scrub to distract her, then, crawling forward in the shallows of the water jump up to suprise her with your version of 'i want to rock with you' by michael jackson. putty in your hands bro, never failed to work for yours truly..... [if the discarded matallica tee was a 'st. anger' in large and her flat-blade 'driver was a 'snap-on' i can trade you for a broken heart?
ReplyDeleteWell damn, Loveless. 'Tis good to have access to a master cocksman such as yourself. I thought all along she just didn't like cattail root.
DeleteI'll switch to Old Spice™.